


shiner

by druzied



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Adam topping from the bottom, Baby Sadomasochist Langa, Bad Concussion Aftercare, Biting, Dubious Consent, Grinding, Langa topping without knowing what he's doing, M/M, Mild Blood, Sadomasochist Adam, UST that's sort of resolved but sort of not, dick stepping, implied Renga, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 19:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30127377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druzied/pseuds/druzied
Summary: Popping my ao3 cherry with a fill for the kink meme (prompt: Langa/Adam, dub-con, dick-stepping).Langa hits his head at the factory; Adam babysits until he wakes up.Langa cracks his eyes, tips his head up toward the voice and instantly regrets it. It’s dark here, but somehow too bright: there’s smoke diffusing the low electric lights of the factory, but it feels like he’s at the beach again, squinting up at the sun through stinging salt water, disoriented and hot. One of the lights flares orange before dimming, small and close; it’s the end of a cigarette, and Adam exhales long and slow, bare fingers cupping the back of Langa’s neck, kneading under his shirt at the knob of his spine. It feels good, grounding—Langa’s eyes nearly slip closed again, but Adam’s tongue clicks at the roof of his mouth and Langa is pitched sideways—no, upward—and Adam is saying something while the world tilts, a buzzing in his ears.
Relationships: Hasegawa Langa & Shindo Ainosuke | Adam, Hasegawa Langa/Shindo Ainosuke | Adam
Comments: 17
Kudos: 75
Collections: Sk8 Infinity - Kink Meme





	shiner

**Author's Note:**

> For [this request](https://sk8-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1329.html?thread=1329) on the kink meme. It's been a minute since I've written fic and even longer since I've shared any publicly so ty for reading, I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> I'm over on twitter @ [embercleave](https://twitter.com/embercleave) if you want to join me on my descent into Sk8/EDENshipping hell.

There are stars behind Langa’s eyes when he comes to, sharp and electric like Shadow’s firecrackers. They burst with each throb of pain at his temples, so he focuses on the backs of his eyelids, not yet wanting to expand his awareness elsewhere though awareness creeps in anyway: the soft stroke of fingers through his hair, warmth seeping from the body his face is pressed against and sweat cooling at the back of his neck. He’s lying down, on his side, his head in someone’s lap. There’s blood in his mouth.

_Blood._ He’d smacked his face on the factory floor after the beef with Joe, didn’t realize his lip was split until Adam wound an arm around his waist to help him to his feet— _”You were exquisite, Snow”_ —then dipped him to cup his chin, swiped a thumb across his mouth. Langa had flinched from the unexpected sting of it, vision swimming when Adam’s thumb came away red and wet, tongue dragging up its length.

He remembers that much, but can’t really make sense of it. He feels heavy, feels like he’s floating. Maybe dozing will help—maybe if he lets himself drift his head will stop throbbing. Maybe it’s Reki stroking his hair, Reki’s hip his nose is pressed into, Reki who smells so good above the sharp swell of blood—like their mingled sweat after hours of skating together, the way they collapse into each other exhausted but lit up, something sweet and warm and hungry under their skin.

Langa makes a noise, and the fingers against his scalp flutter, the belly he’s resting against expanding on a slow inhale, then a humming exhale.

“Are you awake, my Sleeping Beauty?”

Langa cracks his eyes, tips his head up toward the voice and instantly regrets it. It’s dark here, but somehow too bright: there’s smoke diffusing the low electric lights of the factory, but it feels like he’s at the beach again, squinting up at the sun through stinging salt water, disoriented and hot. One of the lights flares orange before dimming, small and close; it’s the end of a cigarette, and Adam exhales long and slow, bare fingers cupping the back of Langa’s neck, kneading under his shirt at the knob of his spine. It feels good, grounding—Langa’s eyes nearly slip closed again, but Adam’s tongue clicks at the roof of his mouth and Langa is pitched sideways—no, upward—and Adam is saying something while the world tilts, a buzzing in his ears.

“—alone together at last. Isn’t it wonderful?” Adam finishes, and Langa’s head lolls as his hands find purchase in the crisp fabric of Adam’s matador uniform, gripping his shoulders. He’s upright in Adam’s lap, knees bracketing his hips; Adam has a firm hand at the small of Langa’s back, the other flourishing his cigarette, drawing lazy circles of light with the cherry, figure-eights that Langa follows with bleary eyes. For a moment, the smell makes Langa nauseous, too-sweet tobacco smoke with something resinous and floral underneath, but the flip of his stomach happens as Adam exerts pressure at the base of Langa’s spine with the heel of his palm. Langa’s body responds to the way their hips slot together, to the simple fact of their closeness: it had been the same during their aborted beef, electricity prickling under his skin wherever Adam touched him, singing through him when they came together.

He doesn’t have the presence of mind to feel shame about it, and didn’t know that shame was something he _should_ feel until Reki’s dismay, his _disgust_ at Langa’s excitement. Langa doesn’t know what to do with it: this new-found knowledge that there’s something wrong with what he wants and the way he wants it.

For now, he’s forgotten. For now he’s in a garden of Adam’s making, and the only thing he knows is the watery bloom of pleasure where his dick presses to Adam’s hip, twitching against the zip of his jeans.

“I’m surprised the sight of blood affects you so.” Adam’s face is close enough that even in the low light Langa can see the red of his irises, the intensity of his gaze through the domino mask. And then their foreheads are touching: Langa doesn’t realize he’s leaned forward until their noses bump, and Adam chuckles, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette onto the concrete beneath them. “I’ll gladly catch you when you fall, my Eve.”

Langa isn’t startled by the brush of lips against his the way he should be. He thinks he might have started it, actually: it’s hard to tell, with the world so hazy. The tip of Adam’s tongue flicks into the slit of Langa’s cut and Langa jolts at the pain, biting down on Adam’s lip. Adam groans, and slides his fingers up Langa’s spine beneath his shirt, and both of their mouths are slick with blood, and Langa’s hips buck involuntarily. He wants—

Adam licking into his mouth, thrusting his tongue in a way that makes Langa’s dick throb, that he matches without thinking, focusing on the taste of tobacco—new, strange—instead of the dizzying tang of his cut lip and the fresh well of Adam’s, courtesy of Langa’s teeth. He’s humping Adam’s leg, and Adam’s cock is hard against the taut muscle of Langa’s thigh, and Langa realizes it’s been hard since he woke up with his face tucked against it, his mouth open and hot near the fabric of Adam’s pants.

Langa is biting along the line of Adam’s jaw, and a hand is fisted in the hair at the nape of Adam’s neck, and he’s dimly aware that he’s doing both of these things _hard_ and Adam is making these low, hungry noises in response, his hips rolling upward to meet Langa’s.

And then one of them is laughing. It’s Adam, but there’s something infectious about it and Langa isn’t sure whether he joins him or not. Sometimes Adam feels like a planet Langa’s orbiting and sometimes he feels like a mirror. It’s a thought that feels dramatic but also true, and he knows Reki would balk at it. Would ask him if he’d hit his head. ( _That’s_ funny—Langa does laugh, then, a little delirious against Adam’s throat.)

Adam grips Langa’s hair, then, yanking his head back so hard that Langa sees stars again, heart hammering behind his ribs as his vision goes white at the edges.

“Is this a new dance for you, darling? How thrilling, to be your partner in it.”

Adam is smiling, his mouth a smear of red, flushed and sticky and swollen. There are tiny marks blossoming along his jaw and throat from Langa’s teeth.

Langa thinks he might pass out again. He mumbles something—“ _should go_ ”—and stands up too fast, and there’s nothing to hold onto but Adam, Adam whose hair he fists as one foot wobbles astride his hip and the other lands between his legs, heel finding purchase at the base of Adam’s cock.

Both of them are a held breath, neither moving for what feels like eternity. Adam’s spine stretches to meet the sharp pull at his scalp; his pupils are so dark Langa can’t see any of the red he’s used to being pinned by.

Adam’s hips buck upward, and Langa can feel how hard he is through the sole of his shoe.

“ _Oh_.” Langa doesn’t know which of them says it: he doesn’t know whether he’s pressing his foot down or if Adam is arching up to meet him or both. His calf muscles are taut, moving with the thoughtless flex of his foot against Adam’s cock as Adam slides reverent fingers up the back of Langa’s calf.

“Lean closer. Yes, good boy-“ Langa bends at the hip so Adam can slip his cigarette between Langa’s parted lips, so Adam can slide his now-free hand up the inseam of Langa’s jeans, knuckles brushing Langa’s straining zipper. Langa inhales too hard, chokes on the smoke in his lungs and spits the cigarette out. He hears the sizzle as it hits Adam’s thigh, the low, shuddering groan as Adam spasms underneath him, both of their chests heaving. Langa’s underwear is wet.

He jerks, stumbles back— Adam lets him go, stays splayed against the concrete wall, cheeks flushed dark beneath his mask, mouth a wide, panting grin like they’ve just finished a race.

Langa’s heart is pounding; he doesn’t hear anyone else in the factory, no signs of the other members of S, which means it’s late. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here. He needs to go.

He doesn’t think he says that out loud, but as he turns to stumble toward a set of stairs, he hears Adam call after him, voice resonant with delight.

“ _Wonderful_. More wonderful than I ever imagined. Until next time, my beautiful Eve—”

As Langa descends on trembling legs there's still heat coiling low in his belly, like something alive. Like something waiting to strike.


End file.
